


Gods and Guardians

by pixie_rings



Category: American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Playing with Canon, Wednesday's a douche, trying to imitate my betters and failing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wednesday has some business in Burgess, Pennsylvania. Shadow knows the drill, or at least he thinks he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gods and Guardians

**Author's Note:**

> Belief is an important thing in both of these works.
> 
> I am crazy, don't look at me.

“We need to take a detour.”

“To where?” Shadow kept his eyes on the road as he asked the question. The heater was broken, and to Shadow it felt as if his hands had frozen to the wheel through his gloves. Wednesday straightened the map with a crack, squinting at it with his one good eye. His breath fogged in the air.

“Burgess, Pennsylvania,” he replied. “Head to the airport. I’m not spending two days driving there.”

Silence fell over the vehicle. It was a while before Wednesday spoke again.

“You’re dying to ask me what for,” he stated. Shadow shrugged one shoulder, non-committal, as if the truth of the statement were a fly he could brush off.

“You don’t pay me to ask questions,” he said, which was also a truth. Wednesday grunted in acknowledgement.

“Well, there’s no harm in telling you anyway,” he muttered. “We’re going to ask for the help of some people I did not want to ask the help of.”

“More gods, then,” Shadow said, not a question. Wednesday’s snort was part derisive, part bitter.

“No, not gods,” he said. “Folk mascots, glorified paedophiles. They bribe and trick children into giving them their belief. Wish I’d thought of that.” He sounded wistful as he scratched his blocky chin.

“Someone I’d know?” Shadow asked. He couldn’t help but feel a little sick at Wednesday’s descriptions. He’d seen what they did to men like that inside. It was the only thing guards and inmates agreed on.

“Oh, everyone _knows_ them,” Wednesday said, and the bitterness had come back now. “They brought you presents and eggs and quarters and good dreams. They’ve carved a niche for themselves and they sit on their thrones, bloated with children’s gullibility and their own hubris. As if their mission is something sacred and important.”

His mirthless laugh let out a dense fog of hot air. Shadow remained quiet, feeling stupid as thoughts of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny darted through his mind like flashes of red and pink. Wednesday must’ve been joking. He allowed himself to look at the man, taking his eyes off the dangerously icy road to study him. There was no hint of a joke in Wednesday’s face, merely resentment.

They didn’t speak again until they reached the airport, leaving Shadow to wonder at a god needing the Tooth Fairy’s help.

.

Burgess was small, and cold, and idyllic. It reminded Shadow of Lakeside, only larger, with less of a small-town, closed feel. Wednesday eyed the buildings as if each had personally insulted him, and told Shadow to park.

The ground was heavy with fresh snow. Here and there stood snowmen, fat, jolly, disturbing things. The air was pale and thick with the threat of more flakes to come. Wednesday began trudging down a dirt track slick with clear ice, his hands wedged deep in his pockets and his shoulders a reluctant square. Shadow followed, admiring how delicate the frost patterns were on the tree trunks, how perfect and fluffy the snow was even though it was the wet kind, the perfect kind for snowballs and angels. It was as if a master craftsman had bestowed all his expertise on the town, so lovingly.

Wednesday stopped a few yards from a wooden bench facing a small lake. A man sat on the bench, tall and muscular even through his thick coat with a fur collar, and Shadow saw from the length of his legs that they wouldn’t be too different in height. His skin was dark, his hair a slate grey, and he was sketching on a pad.

What he was sketching seemed to be on the frozen lake itself. He kept lifting his head, expression focused with a hint of hunger and admiration. Shadow was surprised he got that from only the man’s profile. He turned to the lake, and barely contained a low admiring whistle.

A young man, rake-thin and wiry, was skating there. He seemed lighter than the wind, as if he was flying over the ice with a grace Shadow wouldn’t have expected from a male skater. He would twirl and pirouette, darting here and there, almost ethereal in his ability, almost fey in his elegance. The two would lock gazes, the boy would grin, and the man would return to his art, drawing furiously, filled with inspiration.

It felt intimate, private, and Shadow knew with every part of himself that they were intruding. It was like watching another couple’s foreplay. Perhaps they were.

Wednesday felt no such shame, and cleared his throat. The youth skidded to a halt, folding his arms with a frown. The man on the bench turned and scowled.

“What do _you_ want?” he demanded brusquely. His unexpected Australian accent was thick, and now that Shadow had heard it he could see the aboriginal ancestry in his face.

“You know very well what I want,” Wednesday said, his voice nothing more than a grumble. The young man hobbled over to the bench on his skates and changed into a pair of black boots. He eyed the two newcomers with wary curiosity.

“Who are these guys?” he asked, not of them, of course. The man snorted.

“One’s a lowlife,” he answered with a blatant sneer. “The other’s probably some poor bastard he tricked into working for him.”

Shadow bristled at being called a bastard, but the boy’s laughter was contagious, a bright, breezy chuckle like tinkling icicles, and Shadow couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

“Who’s the kid?” Wednesday inquired, obviously trying for politeness. The youth stood with a bounce, hands in his pockets, his grin telling of snow days and prank wars. Shadow’s impression was that if there was fun to be had, he was there. Hell, he was probably instigating it.

“Jack Frost,” the boy said, giving a vague bow. Wednesday raised his eyebrows.

“Jokul Frosti? Never thought you’d throw in your lot with that band of…” He took a deep breath through his nose. “Them.”

Jack Frost folded his arms, his expression unimpressed. “Yeah, that really ingratiated me to you, whoever you are.”

“Call me Wednesday.”

“I can think of a few things I’d call you,” the man on the bench muttered. He gathered his things and stood, dusting the seat of his pants and shoving the closed sketchbook under his arm. He was only an inch shorter than Shadow himself. “So, what do you want?”

“Can we talk somewhere warmer?” Wednesday asked. “Somewhere with food?”

The other man’s eyes narrowed, and Shadow saw they were a rich, otherworldly green, like nothing he’d ever seen as an eye colour before. They spoke of spring and hope, and an age so great Shadow wasn’t sure he could fathom it.

“If we must,” he conceded, striding past them. Jack gave Shadow a look, from head to toe, before catching up with the other man. Wednesday and Shadow followed.

“Is that really Jack Frost?”

Wednesday rolled his eye. “Of course it is. Although… I never would have guessed he’d join up with _them_ , of all people. He was always more of a free agent.”

Shadow watched them, a few yards ahead. They walked too close to be just friends, and Shadow remembered the intimacy they’d shared before, one skating as the other sketched.

“Who’s the other?” Shadow prided himself on not being a curious man, especially about Wednesday’s affairs. It was easier to nod and follow orders. But these two men… they seemed to need to have questions asked about them.

“The Easter Bunny,” Wednesday grunted, and with no more elaboration forthcoming, Shadow was left to his own, incredulous thoughts.

The ears certainly weren’t what he’d imagined. Nor was the accent.

The place that was warmer and had food turned out to be a small, cosy diner. The waitress seemed to know the two, and greeted them warmly. Jack Frost ordered hot chocolate and pancakes, the Easter Bunny – and Shadow could hardly believe he was thinking that – an omelette and tea.

“And what will you boys have?” she asked.

“What would you recommend?” Wednesday said, offering a bright smile, the winning smile Shadow was not fond of seeing.

“The pancakes are to die for,” Jack Frost answered, hiding his distaste with a fixed smile.

“Well, we’ll have them then, and coffee, if you please, miss.”

The waitress left, giving Jack a quick look. He answered with the barest shake of his head.

“So, what do they call you?” The Easter Bunny had leaned back against the back of his seat, his arm stretched out behind Jack Frost’s shoulders, a protective warning.

“Shadow,” he replied, trying not to be unnerved by the man’s eyes.

“I don’t like dealing with shadows,” he growled. “Subtle things, evil things.”

Wednesday sneered. “Of course, your fabled _arch-enemy_ ,” he said, his contempt visible.

“Y’know, mate, this isn’t exactly helping whatever your cause is. So play nice, or me and the ice block are leaving.”

“All right, all right,” Wednesday grumbled, waving his hand. The waitress returned with a tray, placing a mug of hot chocolate in front of Jack Frost, a teapot and cup and saucer in front of the Easter Bunny and two cups of coffee for Shadow and Wednesday. Once she had gone again, Wednesday cleared his throat, an unpleasant, wet sound. “Well then, you should know what’s going on, I expect.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, the Easter Bunny snorted.

“We don’t keep track of you lot,” he said curtly. “We have our own dealings. We’re not like you, skulking on the edge of society starving for scraps of secondhand belief.” He poured himself tea and milk, eyes flicking to Jack Frost. The boy seemed extremely preoccupied with his hot chocolate right then. “People _believe_ in _us_.”

Wednesday’s face was twisted in an expression of intense hatred, something Shadow had never quite seen on the old man’s face before. “You are just as much of an unpleasant dickwad as you ever were, Bunnymund,” he hissed. Bunnymund nodded, as if graciously accepting a great compliment.

“To be honest,” Jack piped up. “I’m curious as to what you guys are up to. Not that I’d help, or anything,” he added quickly with a cough, “but I’m still curious.”

Wednesday gave him a long, hard look, a piercing look, with his one, beady eye. “There’s a war,” he said solemnly, and he ignored the roll of Bunnymund’s exasperated eyes. “A war between us and… them. And we can’t let them win.”

“Them?” Jack repeated, eyebrow arching. Bunnymund scoffed.

“Y’know perfectly well they don’t give a fuck about us,” he said. “In fact, we’re mutually beneficial, of a sort. Spreads our belief to the four corners of the globe. Holiday specials, books, films, songs… we’re famous. They’ve made us famous. We may have come from the hearts of the old countries, but now… we’re everywhere.” He grinned, as if it were the most delicious irony and he revelled in Wednesday’s plight. “When all the world had was the written word of few and dreams, we did what we did on the power of few. Now, with internet and television, we have so many believers…”

“And yet Pitch threw you for six not so long ago,” Wednesday said maliciously. “Seems _they_ can only take you so far. Children are fickle little things, aren't they? One forgotten tooth, one missed egg, and you're all on the verge of dying.”

Bunnymund looked like he was going to lunge over the table, and for a moment Shadow could see, in the quiver of his muscles and the twitch of his face, a rabbit. A rabbit like none he’d ever seen, more predator than prey, but a rabbit nonetheless. It was mildly unnerving.

The tension was broken by a thin, white hand on Bunnymund's arm. The man settled back down, never taking his eyes off Wednesday.

“We're not going to help,” he said, slow and firm, holding his voice steady. “If the Aurora hasn't been sent out, it's not our fight. We aren't gods, we're Guardians.”

“Guardians of what?” Shadow asked before he could stop himself.

“Childhood,” Jack Frost answered. “We protect kids from whatever's out there.”

Ah, well. Now Shadow could see why Wednesday defined them as 'paedophiles', though Jack and Bunnymund certainly didn't seem the types. “What kind of things?”

Jack Frost shrugged. “Bugbears, bugaboos, dark things, Nightmares... the Boogeyman.”

It sounded ridiculous, and Shadow almost laughed incredulously until he remembered what _he'd_ seen. He'd seen gods and goddesses, deities of the old and modern age. _“Do you want to see Lucy's tits?”_. Suddenly, bugbears and boogeymen didn't seem so far-fetched, almost a welcome respite from all the adult strangeness. Boogeymen were something familiar to be fought, something that could be dispelled with a light and a mother's gentle word.

Wednesday harrumphed, settling better in his seat. “If you're not going to help, what are you going to do? Sit around until _they_ don't have a use for you anymore? Until you're in the way of their monopoly and have to be got rid of?”

“We don't belong to _them_ , we belong to the Moon,” Bunnymund said carelessly. Suddenly he leaned forward, spring-coloured eyes boring into Wednesday's. “I can smell the Hope on you, old man. It ain't gonna work, this little game of yours. You know it.”

It takes Shadow aback when he noticed Wednesday's one eyes had rounded in shock. He'd never seen the old goat shocked before. Bunnymund's gaze never faltered, never wavered, and there was the fire of aeons in his eyes.

“Maybe we should go,” Wednesday said. He got up, straightened his coat. “I'll leave the bill for you two, shall I?”

Bunnymund growled, something feral and inhuman, but Jack Frost merely laughed.

“Sure, why the hell not?” he said, sneering. Wednesday shook his head.

“I still can't honestly understand why you'd lower yourself to joining these...” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, and if anything it made Bunnymund's growl deepen to a snarl. Jack Frost laughed again, light and buoyant and contagious enough that Shadow's lips twitched.

“For one thing, I was chosen,” he said. “For another...” He glanced at Bunnymund, the weight of something heavy there, something Shadow felt (had felt? Still felt? He had no idea) for Laura. “People always do crazy things when they're in love.”

Bunnymund shifted, and Shadow had half an inkling there was a possessive hand squeezing the boy's thigh under the table. Wednesday snorted.

“Fine, your loss.” He turned, on his heel like someone better than him, and strolled off. A wink to the waitress, and out the door. Shadow turned back.

“Are you really the Easter Bunny?” he couldn't help but ask. It seemed too absurd, too surreal for it to be true. Bunnymund eyed him, one thick dark eyebrow raised, and then he laughed. It was a pleasant thing, rough and lilting, and much nicer than his growls.

“Yeah, I'm the Easter Bunny,” he said. “No one believes it, not in this form, but I am. Wanna see the ears?” He smirked.

“He's actually hotter as a bunny,” Jack Frost said, grinning impishly and making his other half splutter with indignation. Shadow found himself laughing, a brief chuckle until Wednesday yelled impatiently from the door. Shadow turned and left, turned back once he was outside.

He'd half-expected them to be gone, but they were still there, discussing something between themselves, and now, if he squinted, he could see it: boy like ice, all white hair and pale skin, in a ratty old blue hoodie and frayed pants. The huge, frankly bizarre humanoid rabbit beside him, all slate grey fur and long ears, nose twitching.

“Get your ass moving, I'm cold,” Wednesday muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and stomping away. Shadow turned again, and left.


End file.
